You Better Watch Out…
My son’s Christmas list seems to get bigger with each passing year. I find myself longing for the days when opening a pack of play-do made him happy and he would want nothing more than to dive into the squishy stuff at hand, never paying any mind to the pile of presents that still awaited him under the tree. These days, I find myself confronted with a nine year-olds’ inquisitive mind about all subjects albeit one that he and I know he would prefer to keep in the naïve land of childhood innocence.
The Moral Dilemma
So how long do I pretend? My nineteen year-old daughter recently let me know that she was on to me by age eight because she questioned why mommy and Santa had the same handwriting. I was never one for wrapping or writing in disguise. It was always done in a mad rush a few nights before while my husband would put her to bed. I never thought to distinguish my handwriting on those ridiculous “to and from” tags bought in 100 packs at Walmart. I must say I was horrified. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I implored. “Come on Mom, admit to the “No Santa” idea? That would certainly cut down on presents.”
Don’t you remember, there were presents from Santa and presents from you and dad? What kid doesn’t want to keep that going?” Her words were like a winter frost. How did I not know this? Had I raised a self-serving child whose sole motivation at the holiest of all holidays was personal greed? More importantly was my just-as-clever son, engaging in the same pretense?
I heard a woman on NPR state that “I worked two jobs every day of my life to give my kids what they needed. You think at Christmas, I was going to give the credit to some big fat white guy in a red suit?” I couldn’t help but laugh and also cringe at the notion that we, as working parents continue to let our children believe that there is this jolly ole’ man who gives Xboxes galore to some kids and Salvation Army pickings to others. What sort of message was I giving my children?
It’s Not About the Presents
Every year I find myself more and more aggravated as the season approaches. Although we are not church-goers, I have always tried to impart on my children the notion that the holidays, from Thanksgiving forward, are about family and love and gratitude. It’s Jesus’ birthday, dammit! Why should any of you be getting presents? How about we wait till January 6th and “little Christmas” and you can all have the wise old gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.
But, no, the stores continue to make it a festive free-for-all on Black Friday, where the latest electronics aisle turns into a scene from Fight Club and where trampling people to death at 4am is the latest in holiday cheer.
And, yet, with each approaching mid November day, I find myself tossing out the relentless catalogues that stuff my mailbox, save for one. Like a balm on a recovering Catholic’s wound, the Heifer International Catalogue finds it way to me and I decide that this is the year that everyone on my list will be giving poverty stricken families in Africa the gift of a goat or cow. I fill it out and I linger on the pictures and read the stories over and over and then once again, I find myself buying those to/from tags in bulk from Walmart.
It’s A Wonderful Life
As I write this, I realize that I will undoubtedly continue my blind march from the third Thursday in November till the 26th of December. I envision the annual aftermath where all that will be left are the gained pounds, the dried pine needles and more credit card debt and I can’t help but wonder if there is any end to the insanity.
And while I long for Christmases past, where a new pair of pajamas as a kid was a treasured present, I can’t help but wonder if we have moved so far away from the spirit of the holiday that there is no going back.
Do I continue the blind march or do I plot covertly to overthrow? Do I continue to fight all the external forces and inundation of commercialism and greed that get to my children first, or do I resign myself to continuing the subjective Santa myth?
Either way, the 24th of December will continue to bring “visions of sugar-plums” and Xboxes and either way, I will find myself once again with a pile of left-over wrapping paper, bows and boxes that will be neatly folded and tucked away for next year’s ringing in of the season.